"Why, they're real pistols."

"Pistols! Yes--pop-guns. I mean big cannons."

"Ah, well," I said, "I'm sorry you will not come, but I must go."

"That's always the way when a fellow comes away from our old physic-shop and takes the trouble to walk all these miles. You're always either out or going out."

"I can't help it, Bob," I replied, feeling rather ill-used. "My father expects me. I have to help him now. You know I like a game as well as ever I did."

"Ah, well, it don't matter. Be off."

"I'm very sorry," I said, glancing at the old eight-day clock; "but I must go now."

"Well, didn't I say, Be off?" cried Bob.

"Good-bye, then!"

I offered him my hand, but he did not take it.

"If you'll walk round by the cliff I'll come part of the way with you,"

he said ill-humouredly.

"Will you?" I cried. "Come along, then."

I did not let him see it, but I had felt all the time that Master Bob meant to come. He had played that game so many times that I knew him by heart. I knew, too, that he was wonderfully fond of the sword practice, in which he had taken part whenever he could, and to get a shot with a pistol or a gun gave him the greatest pleasure.

"He won't come away till it's all over," I said to myself; and we walked on round by the high track watching the ships going up to Bristol, till all at once, as we rounded the corner leading into the Gap, Bob exclaimed:

"Why, there's old Jonas's boat coming in!"

"Where?" I said dubiously.

"Why, out there, stupid!" cried Bob, pointing north-west.

"What! That lugger?" I said. "No, that's not his. He went out four days ago, and isn't expected back yet. That's more like the French lugger we rode in--Captain Gualtiere's."

"Yah! Nonsense!"

"Well, but it is," I said. "That has three masts; it's a cha.s.se maree.

Jonas's boat has only two masts--a regular lugger."

"You've got sand in your left eye and an old limpet-sh.e.l.l over the other," grumbled Bob. "French boat, indeed! Why, no French boat like that would dare to come near England now. I s'pose that's a French boat too!"

He pointed to another about a mile behind.

"No," I said; "that looks like a big yacht or a cutter. I shouldn't wonder if it's a revenue cutter."

"Well, you are a clever chap," said Bob mockingly--"setting up for a sailor, and don't know any more about it than an old cuckoo."

"I know what our old Sam and my father and Binnacle Bill have taught me," I said quietly.

"No, you don't--you don't know anything only how to be surly and disagreeable to your visitors."

"I say, Bob," I said, "is it true what people say?"

"I don't care what people say."

"Why, that your father gives you so much physic that it makes you sour?"

I repented saying it directly, for Bob stopped short. "Want me to chuck you off the cliff?" he said fiercely.

"No, that I don't," I said, pretending to be horribly frightened.

"Because, just you look here--"

"Ahoy--oy!"

"Ahoy--oy! Ahoy--oy!" I shouted back in answer to the faint cry that came from below, where we could see Bigley waving his hat.

It was easier work for us to go down the precipitous slope than for him to climb up; but he did not seem to study that for he came eagerly towards us, while we slipped and scrambled down, ignoring the path, which was a quarter of a mile away.

Bob did not speak as we were scrambling down, and the exertion made him forget his ill-temper, so that he was a little more amiable when we came within speaking distance of Bigley.

"Going to the drill?" he shouted; and then without waiting for an answer, "So am I. Has your father come back, Sep?"

"Come back!" I said. "What do you mean? He came on here."

"Yes," said Bigley; "and then he got our boat and went off in her--so Mother Bonnet said. I was not here."

"Why, where has he gone?" I asked.

"I don't know. I thought he had rowed round to the Bay."

I shook my head and began to wonder what it meant.

"Father has been round to Penzance or Plymouth, I think," said Bigley.

"He'll be back soon, I expect."

"What's he gone after?" said Bob shortly.

"I don't know," said Bigley, colouring a little. "Fishing or trading or carrying something, I expect."

"I don't!" sneered Bob. "I know."

"That you don't," said Bigley quietly; "even I don't."

"No!" sneered Bob; "you never know anything. People at Ripplemouth do.

He has gone on a jolly good smuggling trip, I know."